Tales From the End of the World

Boring Brief Recap:

After much tears and cursing of Argentina, I finally got a flight to El Calafate for Sunday morning. The reason for the tears and cursing were essentially out of extreme frustration after 3 days of hassling with travel companies and airlines. I arrived in this expansive rain shadow of the Andes and settled into my hostel, America Del Sur. I highly recommend this hostel to anyone visiting El Calafate. I met some fun Australians, ate lots of ice cream with them and was taught by on that the North Face zip up I was wearing was in fact derived from oil. One of my most mind-blowing lessons thus far in this far off land.  The next day Trisha, Marisa and I hiked a glacier (Elena did the more adventurous glacier) and drank scotch on the rocks on the glacier. Rocks compliments of Glacier Moreno himself.  The next day we all rode horses around Lago Argentina which was a hilarious adventure, but then Trisha  got mega bit by some Italian guy's horse.

And then there was Ushuaia.

Ushuaia is beyond words for me....and here I go trying to fit it into words:

As the plane descended amongst the Andes to land on a finger of land stretching into the Beagle Channel, I was filled with a calming euphoria. It was the same feeling I used to get during my freshman year of college when after 7 or more hours of driving 5 North, my car finally emerges through the hills and into Livermore area on 580West knowing home was within reach. The same feeling I would get after being in college for a year flying back into San Diego, seeing the San Diego Bay beneath me and the downtown houses rushing further and further upwards into the belly of my Southwest plane before landing in the comfort and security of loving friends in an incomparably wonderful city.  This was the feeling I experienced upon my arrival in Ushuaia and it persisted until it was replaced by regret and apprehension as I entered my taxi to take me back to the airport 3 days later.

I knew nobody, I could hardly communicate with anyone and the streets were unfamiliar, but that doesn't matter; you don't need a map to know you are home. I dropped my bags in my room and promptly walked three blocks south and four blocks east to the doormat of my home: the ocean. The fresh air with a hint of seaweed, the sun reflecting off the water, the distant and non intrusive sounds of water lapping on the rocks and boats clinking against the the subtle movement of the water, the people slowly walking past, some pausing to gaze over the ocean; these are all familiar enough to make my heart beat slower as it does at Sunset Cliffs, Santa Cruz, Half Moon Bay, San Francisco, Newport, Pismo, Montaña de Oro, La Jolla Shores, the list goes on. If I lifted my gaze at all and took a full look around, I would see nothing but Andes mountains and the quaint town of Ushuaia, far from the rush and clamour of city life. What I did there didn't matter. I could walk with penguins, sail to the lighthouse, listen to seals barking or just sit there on my bench before the ocean and be perfectly content with life.

In the end, I did all of the above mentioned and wandered around El Parque Nacional de Tierra del Fuego with Trisha until we reached the end of the highway that connects Ushuaia to Alaska. It rained a bit while we were there, I was able to watch the sun rise over the water and set behind the mountains, I laughed until I cried, I made myself an iced coffee and sipped on it while I journalled and I met fun new people that I will probably never see again. This was home.